


And When You Say My Name, I Hear My Favorite Song

by betweentowns



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, And Jisung is Confused, And They Make Music Together!, Chan and Changbin Are Boyfriends, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Felix are Best Friends, I Wish I Didn't Write This So I Could Read It For The First Time, M/M, Multi, OT3, Oh, Polyamory, Rich Seo Changbin, Same Exact Plot As My Last Fic, Seriously Why Is Felix In Every Scene, Sexuality Crisis, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, because fuck yeah, like really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28191039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentowns/pseuds/betweentowns
Summary: They’re kind of always like this, and Jisung kind of loves every second of it: how easy Changbin and Chan are with each other, how their smiles just seem to get wider with every quip. If he can’t have either of them, he at least wants something like what they have, one day.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han, Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 37
Kudos: 253





	And When You Say My Name, I Hear My Favorite Song

“This is my boyfriend, Bang Chan,” Changbin says as Jisung slides into the backseat. The car is probably the nicest Jisung’s ever been, a sleek black Bentley with tan leather seats. Not a surprise, considering that Changbin shows up to class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings with a new designer belt wrapped around his slim waist each time. No, the surprise is the guy in the driver’s seat who has a hand draped casually over one of Changbin’s denim-clad thighs. 

The guy—Bang Chan—smiles at Jisung in the rearview mirror. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, you too,” Jisung says. “I thought you were getting me in your car?”

“This _is_ my car,” Changbin explains. “I just don’t have my license yet.”

Chan whispers conspiratorially, “He can’t drive because he’s gay.”

" _You’re_ gay,” Changbin says curtly.

Now they both look at him—Chan, expectant and patient through the mirror, Changbin, demanding, twisting all the way around in the passenger seat to peer at Jisung.

Is it cool to laugh at a gay joke if you’re not gay? Is it _not_ cool? Or worse, homophobic? Jisung cracks a pained smile. 

They both grin at him, anyway, as if they don’t _really_ need Jisung’s validation, but appreciate it either way. As they pull onto the freeway, it’s mostly like that—Chan and Changbin in the front bickering so easily and familiarly that Jisung can tell they’ve known each other for years. Every once in a while, Chan will meet his eyes in the mirror and wink, or Changbin will lean over to poke at Jisung’s knee. It’s like they’re waiting for him to smile or laugh, so he does, and they smile back. 

Though Jisung can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s been thrown into the shark tank in some way. It seems harmless enough—the really hot senior from Jisung’s Advanced Music Composition class and his just-as-hot boyfriend giving them a ride to the university studio to work on a midterm project. But Jisung’s face feels warm and his leg jolts with nerves every time Changbin touches him. 

He feels oddly agreeable as he watches Changbin lean over the gear stick to press his lips to Chan’s jaw. Something a little like jealousy, something a little like enthusiasm, blooms in Jisung’s chest as a pretty pink color spreads up Chan’s face.

“So, Changbin says you’re a music production major, too, right Jisung? Concentrating in art rap?”

“Yeah,” Jisung replies slowly. He can’t help the pleased smile spreading across his face. He’d never even realized Changbin had paid any attention to him, another random kid in their composition class, until they’d been assigned together for this project. “I’m a sophomore.”

“He’s the _only_ sophomore,” Changbin corrects, “in our class. You have to apply and audition and all to even be considered.”

Chan grins. “Damn. I bet you make really good beats.”

Jisung is absolutely blushing now. “I’m alright. Are you in music production, too?”

Changbin laughs. “Chan graduated last year.”

“Oh.”

“I _do_ like making music, but I majored in physiology,” Chan clarifies. “I’m a physical therapist for a swim team, now.”

“Cool,” Jisung says, completely earnest. 

Changbin tuts. “He’s a physical therapist for the _national_ swim team. Don’t be so modest, Hyung.”

“You’re right,” Chan agrees. “I should be more like you—Gucci sunglasses and a diamond bracelet.”

“ _You_ got me these sunglasses for my birthday,” Changbin fires right back. “Hypocrite.”

They continue like that, an easy back and forth and then the occasional pause as they wait for Jisung to weigh in on their bickering. Jisung switches between taking either of their sides, trying his hardest to humor them both (not that it seems to matter, because they keep eagerly referring to him, anyway.) Jisung had been absent from class the day they picked partners for this project, and he had been ridiculously nervous to be paired with Changbin, _more_ nervous still when he’d found out Chan would be tagging along, but it turns out he'd had nothing to worry about.

When they drop him off back at his dorm building later that night—only after _insisting_ that they stop and treat him to ice cream—Jisung feels… well, he feels suspiciously _mellow_. 

* * *

“I think I’m gay.”

“This is about that senior in your Advanced Music class, isn’t it?”

“ _What?”_ Jisung exclaims. “How did you know? _I_ didn’t even know.”

“Dude,” his roommate Felix says, sitting up in bed so that his blonde hair looks absolutely insane. He still somehow manages to pull off this unnatural perfect-angel look. “You’re so obvious. You text me every time you’re in class, like, _omg Felix, Changbin is wearing this really amazing pair of light-wash skinny jeans today—_ ”

Jisung groans. “Oh my _god._ I’m gay.”

“Took you long enough,” Felix agrees. “Though I really thought it was gonna be Minho who caused the crisis. Ahh, well. Is he hot?”

“ _Minho hyung_?” 

Felix tosses a pillow at him from across the room. “No, you idiot. Seo Changbin.”

Jisung groans again, burying his head into his Intro to English Lit textbook. “He has a boyfriend.”

“Is _he_ hot?” Felix demands.

“ _Felix._ ” 

“So they’re both hot,” Felix says, unashamed. “Look, this is like, best case scenario. When _I_ came out as bi and Hyunjin still thought he was straight, I thought I was gonna, like, die. At least you _know_ Changbin is gay. And the other one. What’s the other one’s name?”

“Chan,” Jisung mumbles pitifully.

“Chan.” Felix considers. “Hey, I’m sure if they break up you’ll be first on their rebound lists.”

“You’re so not helping.”

“Oh come on, get up,” Felix says. “Maybe we can use your sad, sad love life to convince Minho hyung to buy us coming-out pizza.”

Then he yelps when Jisung flings his pillow back as hard as he can.

* * *

Jisung’s having one of those really nice dreams, the type where everybody is just dancing and smiling and laughing. Everything’s so warm, and pink, as he sways his dream-body to the incessant background music. Now that he thinks about it, isn’t the music getting kind of bothersome? Wait, that music is _definitely—_

“ _Bro,”_ Felix groans into his pillow. “Turn off your phone before I murder you.”

Jisung wakes with a huff, mindlessly throwing his arm around until he knocks his phone out of the charger and it falls noisily onto the ground. “Fuck.”

But at least it’s stopped ringing. Jisung is just getting to sleep again when it starts again, and this time he rolls over and scoops it from the floor.

He stares blearily at the unsaved number in the dark, then just decides to pick it up lest Felix start threatening him again.

“Han Jisung.” The voice coming through the phone is familiar, but not familiar enough that Jisung can place it at two in the morning after he’s just woken up. “You have to come now, Jisung, like right now. Like, if you don’t get here in the next half hour the whole world’s gonna end—”

“Um, who is this?” Jisung whispers.

“Oh. Sorry, Changbin shared your number—it’s Bang Chan.”

Jisung sits up so quickly that it makes his head spin. “Really?”

“Yes, really. So, are you coming?”

“Coming?”

“It’s an emergency!”

“Oh,” Jisung whispers. “Um—”

“I’ll text you the address,” Chan interrupts. “And save my number. See you soon.”

His phone makes a sound signifying the end of the call. Then it lights up again, this time with a text message showcasing an address, as promised.

“Emergency,” Jisung mumbles to himself. But he’s already throwing off his covers and shrugging on a shirt, anyway.

The address is just close enough for Jisung to walk, just far enough that he’s woken up on the way there with the chill of the winter wind. Jisung can’t help but gape at the sheer extravagance of the apartment building—there’s even a _doorman,_ who gives him a look of suspicion and doesn’t send him up the elevator until Jisung rattles off the apartment number he’d been given and presents his student ID. 

“Your nose is really red,” Changbin comments when he opens the door. 

“Hi,” Jisung replies. “What’s the emergency?” 

“Oh,” Changbin says, frowning. “One second—Chan, you told him it was an emergency?!”

Chan’s voice shouts back down the hallway, “I didn’t think he would come otherwise!”

Changbin gives Jisung a once over—mix-matched gloves, tired eyes, coat hastily zipped up, standing in the enormous doorway with wide eyes. “He definitely would have come,” Changbin murmurs. 

It sounds a little like he’s being made fun of, but Jisung can’t quite figure out in what way, and besides, the smile on Changbin’s face is warm and amused as he opens the door wider and orders Jisung to leave his shoes on the mat. 

“You’ve got some drool,” Changbin adds casually, and then—he reaches up to scratch it off Jisung’s chin with his thumbnail like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Jisung stands there, frozen to the spot and completely mortified as Changbin disappears deeper into the living room with nothing more than a “come on.”

“Hey, you made it,” Chan says when Jisung enters the living room, as if he wasn’t the one who had woken him up in the first place. He’s sitting with his pajama-pant-clad legs crossed on the thick carpet, a whole array of laptops and synthesizers and speakers spread around him.“We need your opinion on this beat.”

“ _That’s_ why you woke me up?”

“Chan thinks it’s too bass-heavy, but _I’m_ pretty sure it needs _more_ bass,” Changbin chimes in from the couch, where he’s lying in a robe and fuzzy socks, petting at Chan’s hair occasionally. “We need your expertise.”

Jisung’s not sure whether to be incredibly annoyed or inexplicably gleeful, but the answer is decided for him when Chan tugs him to the ground next to him and presses play on one of the laptops. 

The three of them sit in silence for the full three minutes. Jisung closes his eyes lightly—he always feels like he can hear the music better with his eyes closed—but then he opens them back again. He decides it’s too good of a moment to pass up when he sees that Chan and Changbin have their eyes shut, too. He almost feels guilty staring at them like this when they don’t know he’s watching, but he can’t tear his eyes away. 

They both look so vulnerable, simultaneously younger than he ever thinks of them and yet more serious, too, as they take in every note of the song. Jisung’s floored again by how attracted he is to both of them. And the song is so _good,_ and they’re both so fucking _cool_ —he’s embarrassed by how obsessed with them he is.

“Woah,” Jisung breathes when it ends. “You guys made this?”

“Yup,” Changbin says smugly. Jisung hadn’t noticed when he’d removed his fingers from Chan’s head to start patting at the unruly loose strands on Jisung’s own neck, but now that he has it’s all he can focus on. “So, I’m right, yeah? We should bring in more bass on the second refrain, then double it at the bridge—”

“No, no,” Chan protests. “Let’s introduce it in the first verse and just keep it steady throughout.”

“That’ll be _boring—_

“Your’s is overwhelming—”

“Percussion.”

They both turn to look at Jisung like he’s grown a second head. “What?”

“Percussion,” Jisung repeats, only slightly less confident with all their attention on him. “I don’t know… I was just thinking maybe some kick drum? On the two and four? The bass seems fine.”

“Shit,” Changbin says. “Chan, try that.”

“I’m trying it,” Chan assures, fiddling with some knobs on the synthesizer.

Within a couple of minutes, Chan has the song ready to play again. This time, his eyes widen as they listen to it. “Jisung, you’re a genius.”

“I _told_ you,” Changbin says, smug again. 

Jisung releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as Chan leans over to fiddle with a mic that’s at his feet. “Bin, rap a little? I just want to get a feel for what we could do with the chorus.”

Changbin takes the mic from Chan without protest, tapping it on and clearing his throat in one practiced motion like he’s been doing it for years. He probably has. Chan starts the beat again, and Changbin mumbles some nonsense over the track while Chan takes notes on his laptop. Jisung is amazed at it all—the skillful way they move together, Chan’s intimidating levels of concentration, Changbin’s fucking _voice._

So _this_ is why everybody in the music department raves about Seo Changbin, rap prodigy, Jisung realizes. Even though he’s only rapping half-heartedly over the beat, his voice is something to behold, powerful and intense. 

Changbin grins at him knowingly. “Stop staring and help me with lyrics.”

So Jisung does, and this is an even better revelation: that the three of them work better together than they do alone. The lyrics they draft are raw and kind of vulnerable, and it feels vindicating that Jisung is here, watching them be honest and open and do their thing. 

It feels incredible. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Changbin says a little while later. “You can finish another time, okay?”

Jisung is yawning too hard to object.

They let him sleep in the guestroom, though Jisung’s not quite sure how he gets there. By the time he thinks to ask about it, he’s already tucked into a warm bed, blanket at his ears, the music they’d worked on buzzing in his head and lulling him to sleep for the second time tonight.

“Jisung?”

He blinks sleepily at the sound of his name, barely able to make out Chan’s silhouette in the doorway. The only light is a sliver coming from the hallway, and it turns Chan’s hair into a halo that should be funny, but instead it makes Jisung swallow noisily. “Yeah?”

“You want to keep seeing us, right?”

And Jisung is so tired, and so warm, and so, _so_ content that he just nods against the pillows. Even though the question sounds a little weird to his sleepy ears. “Of course.”

Chan beams before he shuts the door, and Jisung falls asleep in seconds, the lyrics they’d written together caressing him like a lullaby: 

_And when you say my name_

_I hear my favorite song_

* * *

“Here,” Changbin says as he takes a seat at the lunch table. “I know Chan sent you a link to the track, but we made physical copies, too.”

“Thank you?” Jisung responds, taking the CD from Changbin’s outstretched hand. Someone—presumably Changbin himself—has used a thick black sharpie to write _Chan, Changbin, and Jisung’s Best Bedroom Pop Love Song EVER! (2020)_ on the face of it. There are misshapen little hearts and stars drawn all around their names. 

Felix immediately grabs it from Jisung. “Woah, I haven’t seen a CD in years.”

Jisung snatches it back. “Don’t exaggerate.”

Changbin rolls his eyes at the both of them. “I’m Changbin,” he says. “Seo Changbin. Who are you?”

The comical look on Felix’s face is so good that Jisung would definitely be snapping a picture of it right now if it didn’t mean that Felix was about to absolutely humiliate him. “No way,” he says, standing up to drop into a deep, melodramatic bow—the type Jisung normally saves for the professors, or like, the president of South Korea. “Lee Felix. It’s nice to meet you. It is _so_ nice to meet you—”

“Okay,” Jisung says, pinching his friend’s thigh beneath the table. “That’s enough.”

“Jisung _said_ you were attractive, but I didn’t know you were _this_ —”

“ _Enough,_ ” Jisung repeats. But it’s too late; his whole face feels aflame. 

Changbin, though, looks like the cat who caught the canary. “Nice to meet you,” he returns, positively gleeful. 

Jisung puts his head in his hands. 

Apparently, this is a _thing,_ now—Changbin joining him for lunch. Jisung has learned a lot of things this last month. Like, for example, that the super expensive apartment that they’d finished the song in over the past couple of weeks was Changbin’s parents that they’ve rented for him since he started university. He also learns that Chan’s place is apparently uninhabitable. (“You _have_ to see it, Jisung, the whole fucking thing is just a makeshift studio, mic stands and synths in every room, I swear I don’t know when he _sleeps,_ really…”) 

Jisung learns that Changbin is really big on touching. Like, fingers raking through Jisung’s hair or throwing a casual arm around his waist or slotting his hand between Jisung’s thighs. (Jisung learns that he doesn’t really mind being touched. At all.) He kinda starts to lean in so Changbin will entangle their hands under the table and sit in positions that he _knows_ will make Changbin use him like a personal pillow. 

He learns also that Changbin somehow knows Jisung’s entire schedule (not that Jisung had ever given it to him,) and was also somehow privy to Jisung’s location at all times (not that Jisung had ever shared it with him.) Which means, Changbin always, _always_ knows when Jisung is eating at the dining hall. 

Sometimes it’s nice—like when Changbin pops by with a Starbucks coffee for Jisung and claims that, “it was Chan’s idea, not mine,” even though they were clearly both in on it. Sometimes it’s less nice, like when Changbin ambushes him at breakfast five minutes before his 8 AM English class and Jisung’s shoveling cereal into his cheeks and still has a little bit of sleep in his eyes.

Or there’s times like _this,_ when Jisung and Felix’s schedules match up enough that they can grab a quick bite together. Jisung figures he’s been pretty lucky, so far, that he has managed to keep Felix away this long.

Luck’s up, clearly.

“Jisung’s said so much about you,” Felix continues. “Like, _so_ much.”

“I think you should stop talking,” Jisung offers.

“I think I should tell Changbin-ssi every single thing you’ve ever said about him,” Felix replies cheerfully. 

Changbin laughs. “I’m cool with that.”

Their combined power is too much, so Jisung is forced to sit in humiliation as Felix does just that. 

“Do you work out? I mean you totally do, look at those arms, but Jisung was wondering if you worked out.”

“I was _not_ —”

“Also how rich _are_ you, because Jisung got, like, shower water into his phone camera and he could totally use the newest iPhone, his selfies are _so_ bad—”

“They are _not—_ ”

“Also, can I meet your hot boyfriend? Jisung said—”

Jisung screeches. “You can _not!_ ”

But it’s really not so bad: Felix at least has enough tact to only give Changbin the abridged version, and not the Jisung-stays-up-all-night-talking-about-how-unfair-it-is-that-the-first-two-guys-he-liked-in-college-are-already-dating-each-other version.

And, Changbin has leaned over to rest his arm around Jisung’s shoulders the way Jisung sees him do all the time with Chan, except Jisung’s shoulders are _much_ smaller than Chan’s, and Jisung feels like a little kid buried into his side.

If Jisung were a better person, maybe he’d feel a little guilty about cuddling up with a guy who he _knows_ has a boyfriend. But he has it on good word (Felix’s, when Jisung takes too long to shut off his alarm in the morning) that he’s decidedly not a good person. Besides, why does it feel like more and more these days Chan is cuddling up to him, too?

“... other night, Jisung was talking in his sleep again. He has this recurring dream where he’s stuck on top of Lotte World Tower—did I tell you he’s scared of heights?—Anyway, he was calling out for his mom—”

“ _Lee. Felix. Yongbok._ ”

* * *

Jisung figures he and Felix are only getting away with wearing their matching duck-pattern pajama pants in the convenience store because it’s a bit past midnight. Their mission is straightforward and critical: purchase as many snacks as they can carry (or afford, whichever comes first) in preparation for the epic all-nighter they’re pulling before their English literature midterm tomorrow. 

Jisung also figures that the whole thing is kind of unfair—Felix’s first language is English, and he read all the books already in high school. He just has to review, while Jisung somehow has to cram a half-semester’s worth of foreign language books into one night. Though it’s nice that Felix is humoring him.

They’re just headed to check out the instant coffee selection when Jisung hears a familiar voice call his name. 

“Jisung?”

“Chan?”

“Felix!” Felix exclaims. “Oh my god, even for me this is _too_ good.”

Jisung shoves his elbow into the general direction of Felix’s ribs; Felix dodges it neatly.

“You must be Jisung’s roommate,” Chan says as he walks over to the two of them, a couple of packets of instant ramen in his hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Felix raises his eyebrows suggestively. “And _I’ve_ heard a lot about y—”

“Hey, didn’t you say you wanted those sour gummy thingies?” Jisung interrupts.

“I never said—”

“Go find them,” Jisung responds. “ _Please_.”

Maybe Jisung is having a rare stroke of luck, or Felix is too tired to argue because it’s already so late, but his roommate obeys, albeit dragging his feet a bit to the candy aisle. 

“Hi.”

Chan smiles. “Hey. What are you doing out so late? I thought you had an exam tomorrow?” 

Jisung does his best to ignore the unwelcome fluttering in his stomach at the thought that Chan had remembered the date of his stupid English test. He’d barely mentioned it once in passing, and that was _weeks_ ago. “That’s exactly what I’m doing out. We’re prepping for the ultimate all nighter where I will be pulling off the headline trick: reading fifteen hundred pages in seven hours.”

Chan doesn’t laugh. He does this thing, Jisung realizes, where he cares too much about everybody. It simultaneously makes Jisung feel really fond and really babied. “You’re gonna run yourself into the ground,” Chan chides lightly.

“You should talk,” Jisung says quickly, meaning to make a joke about how Chan spends half his nights making music into the early hours of the morning. But a closer look at Chan reveals that he’s still wearing his therapist uniform and a set of undereye bags that look a little more pressing than his usual general air of tiredness. Jisung narrows his eyes. “What are _you_ doing out this late?”

“Long day at work,” Chan explains. “One of our swimmers tore her rotator cuff so I waited with her at the hospital until they could get her checked out and all.”

Jisung frowns. “Are they paying you for that?”

“It’s no big deal,” Chan says. “She was in a lot of pain.”

Jisung knows by now that that’s just Chan talk for what Changbin calls his “hero complex.”

“Hey,” Chan says softly, and Jisung figures the look on his face must be pretty lovestruck, or pitiful, or both. “I’m off tomorrow, so I’m gonna sleep in, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Jisung huffs. But the information admittedly makes his chest feel a little lighter.

They chat for a minute, though Jisung finds there’s not much to catch up on; him, Chan, and Changbin have been hanging out almost every single day that works with their individual schedules. And when they’re not, they have a steady group chat going. (It’s mostly Jisung and Changbin sending memes and song recommendations. Chan’s more of a phone call kind of guy. But Jisung knows he looks at each and every single one of their messages, even the dumb ones.) 

“Come on,” Chan says when Jisung starts stifling yawns in his coat collar. “Big night ahead of you, right?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Jisung teases.

“I’m worried about you,” Chan says, completely serious. 

_That’s not your line,_ Jisung wants to say, but one glance at the earnest expression on Chan’s face makes the words die in his throat. He swallows. 

They catch up to Felix at the cash register, where he’s loading (two armfuls) of snacks onto the little conveyor belt. Jisung tosses his own assortment of snacks beside it, and then the two of them begin the perfunctory college-student dig through of all their pockets for every last bit of change they have.

But before Jisung can even make it to the secret pocket on the inner lining of his coat, Chan is tossing his few packets of ramen on top of their mountain of snacks and pulling a shiny debit card out of his wallet.

“You don’t have to—”

“Jisung, don’t be rude,” Felix says quickly. 

“It’s no problem. Changbin’s so rich I never really get to spoil him,” Chan jokes. And Jisung doesn’t really understand the correlation there, but hey he’s a struggling college sophomore and Felix is already discreetly loading more snacks onto the counter now that he knows he’s not paying.

Jisung swats Felix’s hands off. “Thanks, hyung.”

After Chan pays they stuff the snacks back into their arms (because _Felix_ forgot the reusable shopping bags,) and step out into the cold night. 

“Sure you don’t want a ride?” Chan offers.

Jisung waves him off. “Our building’s three minutes away. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks for the snacks, Chan-ssi,” Felix half-waves behind a pile of chip bags. “Nice to meet you!”

Felix heads a little of the way up the street like he’s given Chan and Jisung some space. Which is completely unnecessary because _one,_ Chan and Jisung aren’t like _that._ And _two,_ Felix is totally still eavesdropping.

Chan observes him for a minute, then shakes his head, laughing. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Jisung mumbles back something noncommittal. “Sure, sure.”

“Good luck with your exam,” Chan adds. And then he moves closer for what looks like it’s going to be a hug, except Jisung is holding way too many snacks and can’t unfree his arms, and then Chan leans in—and there’s _totally_ enough time for Jisung to ask him to stop, except he doesn’t—and pecks him on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

Jisung has suddenly forgotten how words work. He stays rooted in place as Chan retreats to the parking lot, starts his car, and pulls out. It’s not until Felix walks back over and shoves at his shoulder that he remembers to blink.

“Either I’m crazy, or he just _kissed_ you.”

* * *

“Hi baby,” Changbin greets. “You’re late.”

Jisung whips his head around for a second before he realizes Changbin is talking to _him._ “Oh, hi.”

“You’re so shy. I love it,” Changbin remarks. Which of course only makes Jisung feel more shy. “Come on, Chan’s saving us seats.”

“Jisung,” Chan whispers when the two of them sneak into the theatre. “You made it.”

Chan always says this, like one day Jisung is just going to stop “making it,” and ditch them forever. As if Jisung wouldn’t skip class and skip Christmas and maybe even skip Felix and Hyunjin’s wedding to hang out with Chan and Changbin. It’s overwhelming at best and crushing his soul to pieces at worst, how much Jisung likes them. But he just says, “Hi.”

“Scoot over,” Changbin hisses before folding himself into one of the seats next to Chan. He pats the one between them. 

Jisung sits without question.

“You guys are gonna love this movie,” Chan murmurs. “This director is so good.”

Even with the movie trailer ads playing it’s kind of dark in the theatre, but Jisung can just make out the end of Changbin’s eye roll. “Yeah, he’s your favorite director.”

“Because he’s so good.”

“Everybody liked _Inception,_ Chan.”

“You’re just jealous that we didn’t end up picking Frozen Tw—”

“Shh!” Changbin whisper-shouts immediately. “No talking in the theatre!”

Jisung stifles his giggles with his palm. 

They’re kind of always like this, and Jisung kind of loves every second of it: how easy they are with each other, how their smiles just seem to get wider with every quip. If he can’t have either of them, he at least wants something like what they have, one day.

They shut up and really watch the movie, then, Chan giving it the same laser-sharp focus he gives everything. On Jisung’s other side, Changbin eyes are already slipping shut. 

And Jisung doesn’t really have enough time to get jealous over the fact that they’re very obviously holding hands behind his neck, because Chan’s other hand is tracing patterns on Jisung’s knee and Changbin has his head resting on Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung’s heart is beating so loud that he’s worried someone is going to shush them. 

When Chan and Changbin talk (argue) animatedly about the movie during the car ride home, Jisung can’t pitch in a single thought. He doesn't even remember the name of the movie.

* * *

“Happy White Day!” Chan sings when Jisung opens the car door. They've picked him up in (Changbin’s?) Bentley again, which Jisung has since learned is for special occasions. (Not that he’s sure about what _that_ means for the very first night they picked him up.)

“Chan likes to make a big deal out of this kind of stuff,” Changbin whispers conspiratorially, but loud enough that Chan can hear and roll his eyes. “Just humor him.”

Jisung isn’t sure what the look on his face is, but it must be something to see, because Chan quickly adds, “Hey, it’s not a big deal. No pressure.”

“I just… don’t usually celebrate. Obviously,” Jisung mumbles.

Chan smiles warmly before putting the car into reverse. “It’s okay. We’re only half-serious anyway.”

“Yeah,” Changbin chimes in. “White Day is _way_ too heterosexual.”

But the car smells suspiciously like hair spray and expensive cologne. 

Sure enough, when they step out of the car, Jisung notes with a wince that Chan and Changbin are both dressed casually handsome beneath their coats, Changbin in one of his signature designer belts, Chan wearing a smart button up. Jisung feels kind of stupid in his everyday skinny jeans, though he’s glad at least that Felix had convinced him to opt for a thick sweater instead of his typical oversized hoodie. When they’d said dinner, Jisung had figured they were just getting fried chicken like they _usually_ do.

Inside, there are couples everywhere. The restaurant they’ve reserved is fancy, fancier than any Jisung’s ever been in. So fancy that when they sit to order food, Jisung has to cover the prices with his hand or risk losing his appetite.

“Changbin’s treating,” Chan clarifies. “To celebrate.”

Changbin pinches his arm. “This is _your_ holiday surprise.”

The food is _really_ good, so Jisung does his best to swallow down his uncomfortable butterflies and at least put a dent in his meal before he ruins everything. When his stomach can no longer hold another bite of his steak, he takes a deep breath. “This is really nice, and all. But.”

“But?” Changbin repeats, scrunching his eyebrows together.

“But what? Do you not like your food?” Chan asks, a similar look of concern on his face.

“But… isn’t it a little weird?” Or _cruel,_ is the word Felix had used earlier. Or super _fucked up_ —that one was Minho. 

“Weird?” Chan repeats. 

The words come up like vomit. “B-because I think I’m starting to _really_ like you guys, and _no_ , not as just friends, and _yes_ , I know that’s so horrible of me, and third-wheeling your fancy date is like the definition of everything I want but can’t have and it’s just so _awkward,_ and unfair, and, and—”

Changbin lowers his chopsticks and holds up a hand. “Wait, shut up for a second. What do you mean, third-wheeling?”

Jisung swallows. “You know. Because it’s White Day. A couple’s holiday. And you’re a couple.”

Chan’s eyebrows knit together in a way that would usually make Jisung laugh, if his heart wasn’t pounding so loudly in his ears right now. 

“But,” Chan says slowly. “We’re… dating…”

“Yeah?” Jisung replies even more slowly. “Exactly. You guys are dating,” he finishes. But his voice sounds unsure even to him. 

“Not _us,_ ” Changbin says. “ _Us,_ like, the three of us.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. “Three—”

They’re interrupted by the waitress, coming around to ask if they’re ready to order dessert. They’re gonna need a couple more minutes, Chan tells her, and then she insists on reading them the entire dessert menu _and_ the pastry chef’s special _and_ recommending her favorites.

“Exactly what do you think we’ve been doing this whole time?” Changbin demands the minute she walks away.

Jisung shrugs, panicked. “Hanging out?”

Changbin turns to Chan. “You said you asked him out!”

“I _did,_ ” Chan protests, “That first night he came over to work on our bedroom pop love song!”

Jisung’s mouth drops open. “Oh.”

Changbin narrows his eyes. “Chan said _you_ said yes.”

“I did?” Jisung answers. “I mean, I guess I did… ”

Changbin’s pouting, now. “We literally go out for dates every weekend—”

“I thought we were just hanging out,” Jisung repeats.

“I call you _baby_ —”

“I didn’t even know you knew I liked guys! _I_ didn't even know I liked guys!”

“I _kissed_ you the other night—”

“On the cheek!” Jisung protests. “It was platonic.”

“It was not platonic,” Chan says pointedly. And then his voice softens. “Did you really not realize?”

“I thought,” Jisung starts, then pauses, because he doesn’t know _what_ he thought. “I don’t know, that we were just stuck together because of our Advanced Music Comp project.”

Chan points out, “The project ended months ago,” at the same time that Changbin goes, “ _Stuck?_ I _picked_ you!”

Jisung deflates. “You… _picked_ me? For the project?”

“Duh,” Changbin says. “You can be so, _so_ —”

Chan cuts him off. “Anyway. The point is. We like you. We’re dating you, and we want to keep dating? Unless you don’t want—”

“No!” Jisung says quickly. The couple at the next table glances over at the three of them. They’re the only table of three in the whole restaurant. To the untrained eye, Changbin must look exasperated, Chan hesitant, Jisung like an absolute fucking nervous mess.

But Jisung thinks he’s starting to piece things together, a little bit. Because all three of them are also biting back small smiles, Changbin expectant, Chan encouraging, Jisung—well, like an absolute fucking nervous mess.

He lowers his volume. “I mean, no. I want to.”

* * *

After dinner they get ice cream again, just like they did the very first night Jisung had met.

It’s nearly spring, now, but still way too cold to be eating ice cream. Or sitting outside. The three of them do both, squished together on a little bench outside of the shop. They lick at their ice cream as fast as they can—not because it’s melting, it’s just _really_ fucking cold—and then Chan is wrapping an arm around Jisung’s shoulders and Changbin is basically half-lying in both of their laps. It’s nice, and more importantly _warm_ , but also they do this all the time.

So maybe they _are_ kind of dating, Jisung admits to himself. Maybe. A pleased shiver goes down Jisung’s spine.

“Cold?” Chan asks.

Changbin rolls his eyes. “ _Please,_ tell me that’s a rhetorical question.”

“A little,” Jisung answers, teeth chattering. Though it’s from excitement—he kind of wants to sit here with them forever, kind of wants to run home and tell Felix that he now has not one, but _two_ really hot boyfriends. 

They press closer together. Changbin entangles all three of their hands together in his lap.

“This feels unreal,” Jisung admits. “Like, this is seriously everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“It’s real,” Chan says. “I promise.”

Jisung pouts. “But we’ve never even kissed.”

“Do you _want_ to kiss?” Changbin asks. He’s grinning.

“We figured you were one of those take-it-slow types?” Chan explains.

“No, we thought you were a prude,” Changbin says bluntly. “Not that that’s a problem—”

“I’m not a prude,” Jisung says quickly. “I mean, I don’t mind kissing.”

“Good,” Changbin says, and then of course he’s the first one to lean in.

Changbin tastes like strawberries, and also a little like summer afternoons on the beach in Malaysia, which makes complete sense in Jisung’s head, because _Seo Changbin is kissing him._ Changbin throws his entire body into it, making a cage of Jisung’s torso with his arms, and then pressing in again and again until Jisung's head feels dizzy and his lips feel puffy.

Jisung doesn’t even get a chance to breathe when Changbin pulls away, because then Chan is stretching forward, too. If Changbin’s kiss was bruising, then Chan’s lips—slightly chapped and inexplicably warm even in the cold—is like a salve. Chan carefully cups Jisung’s jaw in one of his hands and holds him like he’s delicate. Chan tastes like caramel ice cream.

When they break apart, Changbin’s face is still right there, and Jisung watches in awe as Chan and Changbin lean in and slot their lips together briefly like they’ve done it a million times. They probably _have_ done it a million times. For the first time Jisung doesn’t feel envious; he _knows_ how that feels now. Holy shit, _he knows how that feels now._

For a couple minutes they all just remain still, an odd mess of tangled limbs and all their faces so close that Jisung can see their breaths mingling together in the winter air.

“Okay,” Changbin says finally. “I think my toes are going to fall off if we don’t get back in the car right now.”

Chan moves them, jostling their precarious cuddling position so he can fish the Bentley keys out of his coat pocket. He tugs both Jisung and Changbin up off the bench. “Come on, I don’t want either of you to catch a cold.”

Jisung frowns. “I thought we were gonna kiss some more.”

“ _Jisung,”_ they say in unison.

And it sounds like his favorite song. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I stayed up till 5 am writing this entire thing just so I could write the scene where they see Chan in the convenience store and Felix yells his own name. Seriously my next fic is just going to be 30k words of FeSung? (JiLix?) being idiotic best friends and having chaotic joint birthday parties.


End file.
